


Chasing Charles

by redchanks



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1930s, Abstract/Conceptual Prose, Angst, Description-Heavy, Inspiration- Nighthawks by Edwin Hopper, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redchanks/pseuds/redchanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik talk outside McCoy's Café, but so much more is left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Charles

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote and handed in thinly veiled Cherik fan fiction for my actual English Language GCSE. No, I am not ashamed.

The only warmth left in this city stands before you. Are you weak enough to take it?

McCoy's Café: the best-kept secret in NYC. A city overflowing with secrets, threatening to break the banks of government and bring us right back to where we started- and this is yours. He is yours.

One step and you're flung into a new world. A world of colour, of light, of extravagance. One step and there's the drink your throat burns for, the girls whose crimson lips and feather boas would caress your whole being, if only you'd ask. The air thick and heady with forbidden fruit, one breath and you're an addict. One breath and it fills almost all the parts of you that have been barren for so long. One breath is all it takes to forget what drove you to come here in the first place.

You don't take a breath.

The alley appears to be waiting for you, a private space for sin and filth. You fit right in; you expect that he would to. King of the underworld and the most respected man in the city; he's here, casual and collected as he leans against the walls like he owns New York itself. Which he does.

Intoxication, rife in these few steps taken towards him, because it feels like it's been so long; so long since he held you like you were the only thing that mattered; so long since you were.

"Good evening, old friend." That voice, smooth and accented and achingly familiar. One step. That smirk illuminated by his long cigarette, that face turned away from you but you know it better than you know yourself. One step.

"Thought about my offer?"

You know why you came- you know why you should stay back. You know what you should say, and you know what you want to. You know every possible situation this conversation will lead to, and you desperately want to take the path that will lead to him. All of him.

"The answer's no, Erik." One step back.

The sigh. He turns his face to the cold white light, casting long shadows with the sharp angles of his face. Bones and skin and indescribable beauty- one self-loathing step forward.

"My old friend," The words simmer with danger and sex, yet linger with an unmistakeable sadness. They root themselves into the space between you, a wall of everything said before, and everything unsaid now.

"Erik-"

"We needed you." The words are small, powerless, spilling unchecked from his carefully controlled front. A lifetime of pain, of wasted chances and wasted love, captured in a sentence. There's nothing you can say.

"Together, we would have built so much. What do we have?" a bitter laugh, smothered in regret. "A cafe. A cafe, instead of the world." A pause before the punch. "A cafe, instead of you."

Because that's just it, isn't it? You were his possession, throughout the whispered words and stolen touches. Throughout the dizzying heights where you happier than you will ever be, into the crushing and oppressive reality of now. In your support, you gave him every part of you, some that you never even knew existed, and you've only just started to take yourself back. Letting yourself be owned was your first, if not your last, mistake.

"I have everything I need."

"You conform! The streets of this hellhole walk on you, old friend."

You know what happens next. He apologises and you forgive, as always. Not any more.

"Goodbye, Erik."

Firm shoulders, back turned but it's all you can do not to choke on unwarranted tears. You take that one step to leave him behind and return to your personal corner of hell.

You'll be back tomorrow.


End file.
